


The Heart is a Many-Chambered Thing

by AppleSoda



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: Absence makes the heart grow complicated, Alternate Universe - Canon, Class Differences, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, Politician! Priscilla, Reunions, Separations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-07-25 10:23:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16195610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSoda/pseuds/AppleSoda
Summary: Five years out from the war, Heath is on an odd job searching for a lost young boy gone missing in the region of Carleon. To find him, he must enlist the aid of its young Countess, who is someone all too familiar to him and who wants answers.Certain that her first love was all but lost, Priscilla poured her efforts into becoming the heir her foster father has always wanted. But old feelings are restirred when a wyvern rider she was certain she'd never see again turns up at her door.





	1. The Countess' Choice

Heath was all too glad for the chill of the night, which he was used to in his years as a courier, mercenary, or working in any of the odd jobs that he could find across Lycia, Etruria and Ilia. He missed it almost immediately when he was taken out of it for too long.

 

Inside the manor house before him was the young nobleman who had paid a handsome sum for a bodyguard who could swep the premises by air every two hours to check for threats. Personally, Heath had thought the precaution unnecessary. But the man’s money was as good as anyone’s. And occasionally, he was prone to saying things so odd that the wyvern knight couldn’t help but laugh when he had taken his pay and returned to the safety of the servant’s quarters.

 

Money, however, wasn’t Heath’s primary aim for swapping his armor for a slim livery coat of fine, thin wool for the evening. There was an innkeeper’s son that Heath had been begged to find. True to his word after he had earned a little money for the kindly woman.

 

In the years he had spent traveling to find whatever jobs he could across the Lycian league and Etruria, he had found a land that gravitated between kindness and cruelty. Its people, much like the villagers in his homeland of Bern, were generous with time for wanderors lost while navigating the countryside by wyvern. They defended themselves as best as they could from wandering bandits or mercenaries employed by crooked fiefdoms’ lords.

 

The innkeeper’s family was one such household that fell victim to a swindle. Their son Luka, who had a knack for magic, was sent colorful posters, flyers, letters and packacges of sweets for motnhs on end in the post, all of which advertised a school for mages that promised entry into the Etrurian Royal Academy.After begging his parents to send him, young Luka had been packed up and tearfully sent off. That was in spring, and in winter, both Luka’s parents wanted to know where their son had disappeared to, with no postage, notes, or any word from the boy in the days since.

 

Children disappeared easily, particularly in the countryside where families lived in sparse relation from the watch of marquesses, kings, counts and countesses that governed them. It was only too easily that they fell victim to swindles and schemes.

 

That was where Heath came in, and in the course of the last few months, his trail had taken him into the fiefdom of Carlaeon, and into the employ of the nobleman that would get him to an audience with its young Countess. It was said that she had connections across the twisting, confusing countryside, known for not only its scenery but of its noble houses, who jealously kept their secrets close.

 

Why had that house’s name sounded so familiar to him? As they walked through the cool hallways sumtuiously draped in velvet and furnished like the prince of Bern’s summer residences, he examined the portraits of the Carleon family. As soon as the features of a young girl in a troubador’s uniform arrested his attention, Heath felt a tug on his sleeve.

 

“Come on,” hissed the young baron, who was trying his patience.“It took me a lot of trouble to get an udience with her, but I’ve fulfilled the terms of our employment.

 

A mischievous smirk crept onto his face. “I hear she’s a real beauty as well. So angelic looking that Carleon took her in as his heir. Maybe there’ll be something for me in the audience as well?”

 

It troubled Heath that the young man spoke of their host in such a way. Not so much that his money was no good, of course, but his instincts twisted in sharp, sudden anger. But it would not do to find himself on an executioner’s block when there was work to be done.

 

Biting his tongue, he followed the young nobleman up a grand staircase, to where two servants drew the doors open. The room before him was furnished more simply than the other chambers of the manor, attended only by two figures— one lady’s maid, and the countess herself.

 

His heart lurched at the sight of her in an instant.

 

She was as he remembered, for the most part, and the sight of her jolted him not only to what he had lost, but what had changed about her.Priscilla’s eyes were green, clear, and just as pertinent danger to him as they had been five years ago. He knew from experience that if he wasn’t careful, he would tell her everything, just as he had done before.

 

Priscilla had been left in tears and with a promise that he would return— one that had gone, for precisely five years, unfulfilled. Her bright red hair was bound in a golden net, and set carefully with tiny pins of pearl. The years had given her an elegant, tapered neck and a taller stature, honing her reservedness into something like an invisible blade that radiated from her. The gown she wore was likely the one that had carried her through the evening’s festivities, a crimson and cream-colored dress that took her short, slight stature and added a subtle but present layer of authority. Taken from the countryside and placed into a court, he was certain that she could give the Queen of Bern herself a run for her money in a charm offensive.

 

“Countess Carleon,” the words fell from Heath’s lips, pushed out by mission and not the sheer stumbling awkwardness of their reunion. His heart leapt, half out of joy from seeing her and half out of the need to flee however he could. But with a mission in hand, he met her gaze, unsure of what she was thinking.

 

“Heath,” her words were wary, which was to be expected. “Well met, old friend,” she added quickly, eyes flickering to the lady-in-waiting and baron that also stood in the room. How easily nobles needed to ensure that nobody else knew what they were really talking about. The reflex with which Priscilla did it was alarmingly efficient. But he knew that about her already.

 

“What brings you to Etruria?” She asked.

 

The hesitation that had frequently peppered her voice in years past had been tempered into the even cadence of the well-bred lady that she had always been. The lady that he could never have.

 

“You’re— you’re familiar with one another…” sputtered the baron, evidently forgetitng whatever expensive breeding he had grown up with. His gaze, hot with rage and scorn, drifted over Heath. But it did not matter what this baron thought of him. He was but an accessory to the true mission of finding the children.

 

“I had mentioned that I had some experience serving Marquesses,” Heath answered quickly, knowing that someone like the baron would fill in all sorts of salacious (if only partially true) gaps. After all, it would not do for a scruffy wyvern knight to besmirch the Countess’ reputation without finishing his mission. “In truth, it was Ostia and Pherae. The Countess was a healer in the same war.”

 

The baron stared both of them down, pale with fear. “You—you mean…But I can’t imagine…”

 

“It…it was a difficult war to fight, yes.” Priscilla nodded. “But yes, he speaks the truth….Heath, did you come to remnisce, then?”

 

Her last words had a new sharpness and old stubbornness to them, drawing out questions that he had no easy answers to.

 

“I have come to search for a missing child that I believe to be in Carleon, spirited away to a school supposedly for mages,” he answered. “Will you lend me your aid?” In truth, the answer had taken a great deal of compusure that he had honed through dealing with precisely the sort of clients like the baron, and Heath was using it all to remain stone-faced. 

 

She pondered the question, a mask of serenity still clouding her features. But all too clearly, he had seen turmoil passed over the young Countess’ features. So too did loneliness that stirred feelings he had nursed for years, that he should have protected her with whatever he had, regardless of the impossibility of their future together.

 

At last, Priscilla gave a small nod, and gestured to her maidservant, who drew a small red-and-gold card from her pockets.

 

“Show this to the guards the next time you return. Alone.” Priscilla added, looking absently at the client he had used to get in.“We have much to speak about if I am to aid you.” Again, her words were laced with something potent that she held back for the sake of polite company.

 

It wasn’t until later that as he held the little scrap of expensive, gilt-lined paper up to the firelight of his lamp that Heath realized what he had gotten himself into. He had said that he would pay whatever price he needed to see Luka back with his parents. Evidently, the price was a toll that would cut deeper than he thought.

 

 

 


	2. Rekindled Memory

Priscilla, Countess of Carleon, awoke in the middle of the night with the realization that she had done something extraordinarily foolish. Over and over again the vision of her maid handing the red-and-gold card over to Heath played out. She had thought nothing of it at the moment, but in the hours tha tpassed since his departure, the rational side of her, which had been delayed by a few glasses of wine and a bit of nostalgia, crept back in.

 

She squeezed her eyes shut as she fell back against the matresss with a soft, frustrated groan. The decision was evidently one that would plague her with restlessness until she either absolved herself of the situation, or had a chance to speak with Heath again. But the rules were clear enough. If she took the risk and said too much in front of her maid and the brash-lookong young baron, there would be no good that could come out of it.

 

If she risked everything to only have him say that he had forgotten or that his feelings waned, what good would it do her?

 

The years of war and years of politics-negotiated peace had drilled instinct in its rawest form into Priscilla. Her foster-father ensured it, and set his expectations about raising her as his heir as soon as she had returned from the battlefield.

 

There was a time when Priscilla had expected Raymond to have taken the mantle of a noble heir, when they had worn the crest of House Cornwall of Lycia, or when he had returned to Carleon with her and inherited the estate from its elderly Count. That time had passed. He did follow her home, but had chosen a life outside of the peerage, eschewing titles entirely to live alongside with the monk Lucius in his nearby parish. It had taken sometime for her to accept that Raymond would never be back in the way she wanted him to, but Priscilla had been unhappy as she compartmentalized everything around her.

 

There was no possibility that someone like Heath, whose convictions were clear as day, would use such tricks to find her. In fact, he had looked stricken to see her. She suspected that he would have preferred straying into a den of thieves than a Countess’ manor.

 

He had held her heart for a time that lingered long after they had parted ways. Even now, Priscilla wasn’t certain that it was unaffected her memories of him. Heath was simple, truth, straightfoward, and painfully earnest — nothing like the duplicitous, swindling nature of the nobility whose presence filled Priscilla’s daybooks.

 

He had laughed easily and talked about his finicky wyvern, Hyperion, as if it was the closest thing to a brother he had. A shock of white ran through his hair that gave him the look of something otherworldly or of a man that stumbled out of the wildnerness.

 

What had drawn Priscilla to the man was that he was everything the life she had been prepared for wasn’t. She was curious to see how when everything had been taken away from him, he had perservered.

 

Even before he had found out about her lineage, he saw her as something of a doll, fretting that her sensibilities were too fragile to handle stories about flesh, blood, and wounds. Priscilla had always been confused and a little amused by the misguided chivalry. It was an inescapable fate, like it or not, that healers had to get a good look at any soldier’s wound, no matter how grisly. 

 

It was only when Heath had left her, fearing the weight of nobility that pressed itself between them, that Priscilla realized what she had never been able to tell him— what she had never been able to put her finger on.

 

In the years between the war and his appearance at the doorstep, Priscilla had thought of what that conversation would look like. And now that he had returned, she found herself paralyzed to start it. After all, the very people that he feared the most held court within places like Etruria, Pherae, and Bern. He looked as if he had spent the five years since they had last seen one another wandering the countryside, taking in sunlit days in flight and the easy, simple smiles of the people that lived far from nobles’ worries.

 

Whatever inkling of a courtship they had had before was gone. In its place was the task at hand, and a man whose handsome features had only grown sharper and truer, growing with the memory that Priscilla couldn’t ever quite shake off.

 

Determined to make the most of whatever time they had together, she fell back into slumber. He might have taken peace from her for a little while, but Priscilla never took promises that she didn’t fulfill.

 

= = =

 

Lucius grimaced.

 

“Oh, is something the matter?’ Priscilla asked, peering over a steaming cup of tea.

 

“It’s nothing, Lady Priscilla…I just appear to have sat on three crayons that I did not expect to be placed on the chair.”

 

The kindly bishop, who had fallen victim to a prank played by one of the many children in his care at the orphanage, rose from his seat with a wince. Priscilla watched over her charges reprovingly with a silent look that she had seen Raymond use once.

 

Try as she might, she lacked the glower of her older brother. As she passed him on the way in, he was at peace, in concentration as he made proper work of a pile of firewood. They talked briefly about recent happenings Carleon, but Priscilla excused herself quickly to see the real reason she had made the visit so early in the morning.

 

“Looks like you’ll have to find out for yourself who was so careless to do that.” Out of the corner of her eye, she spied several small sets of figures retreating back into the hall, stumbling over one another as they caught sight of her. 

 

“The Saint forgives those that reflect on their actions and repent of their own accord, milady.” Lucius was one of those people who had a neat philosophical explanation for just about anything. It had annoyed her to no end in the past and contributed to a rather irrational jealous streak. Even now, Priscilla could never for the life of her figure out how he managed his even temperament. “Now, shall we discuss your problem?”

 

As she explained, the usually serene features of the cleric furrowed at the mention of missing children and a false magical school.

 

“Most children,” he explained, “are cared for by the church or by their families. Should they show a gift for magic, they are either given a tutor—”

 

He gestured to Priscilla, who nodded quietly, remembering the stern troubador that had overseen her training.

 

“—or enrolled in church-run schools. But in some villages, where the Saint’s ministries does not send teachers, children who have been given the gifts of magic are sent to private schools.” Lucius’ patient voice and even temperament had made him a good match for her brother, who charged into arguments and skirmishes alike without a second thought for his wellbeing. Priscilla nodded along with his explanation, watching her secretary write the pertinent details down in a small notebook next to them.

 

The task set before her was one that had veered her off the usual path of appointments, petitions, and social calls. But a Countess managed all that went on in her region, for good or ill. “Take heart, Lady Priscilla. I will send along prayers so that the Saint may soothe the boy’s parents. After all,” he added, “ she’s already sent a lady who never lets go of something once she’s set her mind on it.”

 

The last statement was edged with a bit of steel in Lucius’ voice, reminding Priscilla that despite the goodwill that existed between them now,that he knew just how her tenaciousness could easily overwhelm others. It was a warning that she didn’t quite like, but probably needed to hear. As she departed and dismissed her secretary, Priscilla watched Lucius give a small wave and resume sweeping the steps of his orphanage.

 

He couldn’t possibly have known precisely what she couldn’t let go of. Raymond was what she had clung to as a child. But try as she might to keep him close, he had set off to chase peace or solace on his own.

 

What was she chasing now? The answer eluded her as she stared down at the scrap of paper that her secretary had passed along. Her next call would point her to the records that Lucius suggested would narrow down where to look.

 

= = =

 

A gust of wind shook the grounds of the courtyard as Priscilla stepped back from her horse, pausing her caretaking of her trusty mare.A small smile spread on her face, knowing precisely which wyvern had landed.

 

With a delighted screech, Hyperion lumbered over and gently nuzzled against her. She had figured out a stomachache for the curious, energetic creature and cured him. There wasn’t much Priscilla knew about mounts that weren’t horses, but she suspected that his memory was good enough to form something of a friendship.

 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d start getting jealous that he still likes you this much.”

 

The words made Priscilla pulse jump, sending her scrambling to keep her composure. It would do no good to try to tell him everything that she was thinking or feeling. That wasn’t why Heath was there, and she just had to reaffirm the point.

 

“He’s as….quirky as ever, Heath. As are you, it seems,” observed Priscilla. Her initial observations about him the night before had been no less diminished in daylight. She had missed the sight of him something fierce, and finding him made breathing a little harder and small jolts of heat singing into her veins.

 

Was that the tenacity that Lucius had described? 

 

“There’s nothing to change when you’re just a few scraps of armor and a wyvern, milady.” The word cooled her roiling emotions. Of course that word separated them, as it had done years ago. “I can see that you’ve done quite well for yourself in Carleon.”

 

“I’m lucky to be surrounded by wonderful people here,” Priscilla replied placidly.

 

“A-alright,” she continued. Wincing inwardly at the stutter that had crept into her voice, she gestured for a footman and a groom to attend to her. “Shall we be off to gather information about this child?”

 

He nodded, and yet she couldn't help but hope a little in seeing his gaze linger on her. It wasn’t anything like the times Priscilla had imagined finding him again, but she had known that Heath did not dwell in dreams. He could never afford to.

 

And if she was going to get him to see eye to eye with her, she needed to know precisely how to win his heart again.


	3. Unwavering

In the years that had passed after the war, Heath had convinced himself that trying to move on from the thought of losing Priscilla was the right thing to do. After all, she had a family to return to with expectations— ones that didn’t involve a man that, upon inspection, was wanted dead by Bern’s royal house. A commoner had no chance with the heir of a Count. He specifically had even less of a chance, with the swords of Bern’s knights looming over his neck as certain as an executioner’s blade. 

Despite the rational reasons to forget her, though, the moments where he couldn’t help otherwise started to collect like dust on a sunny windowsill. There were trinkets that he found in markets that would look fine pinned into her bright red tresses, jokes that he wanted to pas on, adn sights that he wanted to describe in slow, lengthy letters. Those instances had amassed like a shadow that loomed behind him, following his steps on mercenary, delivery and other jobs that he had taken up. More notably, it was far easier to think of what to say to an imaginary Priscilla than to think of what he would say to her again— or to consider what he had done to her. 

“That’s your tell,” the assassin Legault had commented once, during a chance meeting at a tavern. “Someone finds that weakness of yours, exploits it, and you’re done for— not that that fiesty little noble is weak, I mean. She could probably chew someone out if she puts her mind to it” He took a neat sip of a wine that Heath was certain that neither of them could afford. 

“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or her right now.” Heath took a long pull of the ale he had ordered, his sour mood lingering longer than he’d liked. 

“Mostly you,” drawled Legault, reaching over and playfully flicking the streak of white hair out of Heath’s face. “Because you’re more fun to get a rise out of.” 

What would someone like Legault, who smoothly took everything he could get his hands on— money, weapons, bits and pieces of affection— think of an opportunity like this? 

Unfortunately for Heath, whenever he tried to think just like that— about ways of making that specific lingering vulnerability less ofa liability, the task itself felt insurmountable. And now that Priscilla was guiding her horse along the road between Carleon and Reglay with ease, he felt even less certain about what to do and say.

She had not brought up their parting, but Heath was certain she harbored some likely justifiable anger towards him for it. But where that left them— not him alone, not her alone, but them, was what unnerved him. Whatever chances remained, Priscilla had to decide the next steps to take, whether she was still the sad-eyed girl that he had always known or the strong, vibrant woman that she had stepped into along with her title. 

That the case of the missing boy was a point of convresation they could come back to could, at very least, delay the conversation that he was certain Priscilla had been thinking about. As they made their way into Reglay for a meeting with an old associate, he lazily guided Hyperion overhead, watching Priscilla’s handsome little wooden phaeton rumble across the countryside. With the skies favorably windless and the path smooth, it was hard not to feel a little optimistic. 

= = = 

“Why, Klein, that’s tremendous!” Louise, Marchioness Reglay, bent down and clapped her hands to that of her young son, who shouldered his bow and stared back at his mother with a small, proud smile. The Lady of Violets held up her hand as she and her boy walked over to the target to collect their arrows. 

In the back of the courtyard of Reglay castle, Priscilla watched the exchange fondly. At her side was Heath, who avoided the Marchioness’ gaze like it would poison him on sight.

“Whatever is the matter with you?” She leaned over, nudging him playfully with her elbow. “You look like you’d rather fly through ballistae than speak to her.” There was a story there, and she intended to get it out of Heath. 

He sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “ Er…I embarassed myself in front of her once, and I’d like to not repeat that experience.”Heath was always funny like that, and had stories of the odd encounters he’d had with others in the army. She was the most curious about how he greeted the vicious-looking Vaida, another wyvern rider, with the most confidence, while being cowed by the gentle-looking Countess. 

“Your tutelge skills are impressive, Lady Louise,” She beamed. “Is Lord Pent disappointed that he hasn’t gotten a chance to teach him magic?” 

“Klein hasn’t shown the signs of those gifts. His skill with a bow, however, appears to have sprung up overnight.” Evidently, spirited noblewoman known for her deadly aim didn’t mind one bit how her child’s interests had evolved. “Ah, but if we have a child that shows interest in the healing arts, I’d love to send them to you to learn horsemanship.” She glanced up, as if imagining an invisible troubador sitting atop a horse before them. “What a sight that would be!” 

To Heath, the thought of Priscilla guiding a small troubador up a path, staves in hand was an amusing one. She had never spent much time around the army’s younger charges. But nobility seemed to trust one another with children, gossip, and information far more freely than others did. That was a sort of freedom that he wasn’t sure he understood. 

“So what brings you to see Erk?” Lady Louise set down a platter of grapes, cheese, and dry crackers. She gestured for them to partake of the snacks, watching little Klein scoop up a handful of grapes and scuttle away with his prize. 

“I have a record of schools in Carleon that I’d like to get his opinion on.” Priscilla gestured to a small square box that her servants had collected and that Heath had insisted on carrying. “Erk is far more versed in how a school for mages than Heath and myself are.” She glanced over at the wyvern rider besides her to gauge if she had given away the right amount of information or not. 

= = =

“This one,” Erk pointed to a spot on one of Priscilla’s maps. “Watersweep Academy. It’s known for inconsistent graduations and has been short on money. My university’s circle has never reccommended it to good families. So the children that are sent there…” He trailed off. The three of them were seated in one of the many studies that belonged to Count Reglay’s residence, poring over records from Carleon. 

“They’re from families that you wouldn’t consider ‘good’,” Heath remarked stiffly. This was the trouble with dealing with nobles, even ones that hadn’t been born into it. After enough time had passed, everyone started talking, thinking, and acting the same way. Even more free-spirited ones like Lady Louise, at the end of the day, had to come home and play their proper parts. 

“They’re families that the academy’s instructors don’t consider good,” Erk glared at Heath. Repeatedly throughout their conversation, his gaze flickered from wyvern knight to valkyrie, likely puzzling just what their current affiliation was. A possessiveness snuck into Heath that he hadn’t felt since his days in the Bern army, and he wanted to prove himself more than ever. But antagonizing the mage would do them no good. 

“Doesn’t mean that the children don’t have any potential. Or that they don’t belong to a family,” he asserted. 

The comment had struck both the mage and Priscilla as one that had touched a nerve. She laid a hand on his arm. “Heath, I’m sure that you mean well for the missing child. But let’s let him continue.” 

Frowning, he bid the mage continue his explanation. 

“So,” continued Erk, “ I believe that Lady Priscilla, as the region’s proper authority, should meet with them and retrieve information from this school,” he bent down and circled the location, “ as well as these villages in the area. I would join you in this endeavor, but…” He trailed off, looking at a stack of parchments packed with difficult-looking text, and a messy stack of papers underneath it. 

“Such is the life of a junior university instructor,” the mage sighed. “Well, I shall see you off and meet you once again in five years, when these assignments are complete.” 

“If you’re still working on it in five years,” a wry grin snuck onto the wyvern knight’s face, “I owe you a drink for perserverence, at the very least.” 

= = 

Whatever moment of tension had passed between the two men had dissipated. Priscilla had her suspicions as to why. Erk’s feelings were obvious enough, as he had followed her around a bit like a smitten puppy while in camp. But her feelings at the time were fickle, and she had thrown herself at Heath recklessly, her curiosity for his secrets and his attention something insatiable. 

That insatiable curiosity of what he felt for her now had lingered fiercly. 

“Watersweep Academy will be on the way back to Carleon Keep.” As they set out, she took a position not inside the phaeton, but atop her horse. Hyperion glided slowly overhead, taking a route close to the ground where the two of them could converse easily. 

“It’s taking far more steps to find that boy than I thought,” he grimaced. No doubt that each day they spent looking, the trail had the chance of growing colder. 

“But you’re determined to find him, hm?” She knew the feeling of needing to make something right. During the war, her feelings had made a fool of herself and a wreck of whatever slowly growing friendship that she had forged with Lucius. It was only years later that they could speak again. 

“Once I set my mind on something,” Heath answered, looking Priscilla straight in the eye, “I tend not to waver.” She could feel his gaze on her even as the wyvern picked up speed and height, blancing itself against the winds that blew overhead. That, she took to be the truth, both observed in the past and something Heath certainly practiced in the present. But the meaning behind his words were sketched out what she wanted desparately, but not something she was certain of. 

His ideas, his personality, and the proximity of him had all ingratied themselves into a worrisome little nook in her mind. Warily, Priscilla proceeded down her own road, parallel to the path Heath followed. It was time to guide them to Watersweep with the right questions in hand.


	4. The Countess' Gambit

The path that Heath, Priscilla, and a small band of Carleon’s guards traced through the woodlands of the domain, passing through small farms and villages under the Countess’ protection and governence. A fragile silence had settled between them as they traveled on. At moments, Heath was certain that the Countess was peering up at him curiously, pondering something that he wasn’t quite sure he could bring up again. When they stopped for meals, they talked of what she had helped her foster-father build in the years that had passed, and about the jobs that he had taken. Soon the pauses in conversation held a tenderness to the time that passed, though neither dared breach the subject that still loomed.

 

“An elderly bishop named Liana who rose through the ranks of the church founded this school,” explained the village head as they neared the school itself . “She’s been a presence in the village for decades, longer than I’ve been alive, really!And she’s done so much for the Church keeping the Black Fang and the Bernese at bay. But the strange thing is…she’s stopped coming to us with students.”

 

“Has anyone visited the school since then?” asked Heath, eager to find news he could bring back to the boy’s parents, if the Luka himself couldn’t be brought back.

 

“Her temper has been shorter, and she shuts the door whenever anyone asks after them. I was writing a letter to the Countess to ask about looking into the operations, if you ask me.” The sensible-looking chief could have looked the part of a washerwoman, but for the way that she set herself about the path. Watersweep Academy’s buildings, which seemed to form a village of their very own, loomed over the hills they rode towards.

 

A powerful bolt of lightning, likely fired from an wickedly difficult-to-cast magical tome, missed Hyperion’s wing by a matter of feet. With a startled yelp, Heath sent his loyal wyvern into a dive, returning back up with a nervous expression and knowing he’d have to bribe Hyperion with treats before trying that one again.

 

Out in front of the Academy’s gates was a woman clad in the white and blue robes of a Eliminean cleric. Just as the headwoman described, the elaborate embroidery stitched into its sleeves and cape identified her as a bishop, and Priscilla had seen Lucius wear the same clothing on festival days. Though approaching sixty, her eyes were clear and she stared straight at the pair of them, valkyrie and wyvern knight, as a queen would intruders to her domain.

 

“One wrong move, and she’ll risk the children’s lives,” Priscilla looked over towards the small, run-down building that looked to serve as a dormitory. She set her horse on a path just along the rim of the academy’s border, regretting that they hadn’t hired along a few pegasus knights on the rescue mission.

 

“Bishop Liana,” she called out, raising her voice so that it resounded clearly down the hills. “I am Priscilla, Countess Carleon. Bring the children of Watersweep Academy out at once!”

 

“You can’t,” the cleric’s voice was urgent and panicked. “Countess…there’s a war…I won’t let it take anything else away from me again!”

 

Looking up, Priscilla mouthed the word “go” at Heath, who set aside his lance and sent Hyperion higher into the skies to get a better look for the students. For a few minutes, he peered over empty buildings and grounds of the school. At last, at the back of the dormitories, he saw ten or so children sneaking out the back, their belongings in small cloth sacks or boxes.

 

But the Bishop’s words had startled him. He had no doubt that if she had tried anything against him, Priscilla, or the children, that he wouldn’t charge at her, lance in hands. Yet her words disarmed his expectations.

 

Would that be something that Priscilla would understand as well? After all they had been through but all that her world expected her to do, how would she decide?

 

“We need to make two trips,” he said quietly, landing Hyperion next to the students, who were too big for the wyvern to cary all of them and him at once. “Half of you hang onto him, and I’ll fly as slow as I can to safety. The rest of you find a place to hide.”

 

“Don’t take them away. You can’t…I have to protect them…It’s not safe out there”

 

“I know it’s not. Believe me, I know.” The Countess lowered her gaze, realizing suddenly that the accusation had taken her to a place that she would rather not visit once more. Too many moments within her own childhood, she had been shut away. “But Bishop Liana, you can’t keep them here.” Priscilla set her horse forward at a gallop, swiftly avoiding the spells that the older woman sent her way. Steadying her mount, she reached for the right weapon in her packs. At last, she had made her selection.

 

The staff’s red-colored glass glowed softly as Priscilla’s lips moved with a quiet, difficult incantation, sending a pale pink wave of sparks at the bishop. At once, the lightning bolts that had been flying wildly at Heath and Hyperion stilled as the glow of magic from her hands faded. Liana continued to gesture wildly at the wyvern knight, meaning to send him tumbling out of the sky but finding her incantations little more useful than simple angry shrieks.

 

“Go,” Priscilla commanded of her guards. “Her magic’s been sealed away for a little while. Take her tomes and put her in a carriage to take back to Carleon, where the church can look after her.” Looking warily up, she re-shouldered the Silence staff and breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“Can we go home?” A boy raised his hand asked. “I’ve been waiting ages to go, since she decided to trap us instead of teaching us magic.”

 

“I don’t want to be a mage anymore, I want to be a troubador like her!” called a little girl, who beamed brightly, walking up and looking as if she had a silent question for the Countess.

 

“Yes, you can pet her if you’re gentle.” She nodded, as the small, curious child looked upon the horse with awe.Noticing the compliment, Priscilla flushed brightly. She looked towards Heath, who brought out the other children, landing in the grass before them with a soft thump.

 

 

= = =

 

Priscilla fiddled with the handle of her teacup, a habit that she had thought that the combination of finishing school, a governess, and her mother’s sideways glares had driven out of her years ago. But none of those people had properly prepared her for a request to speak in private from someone that had declared love, left her for years, and set her about an adventure across her own realms.

 

As Heath entered her small sitting-room, she straightened her skirts, noticing that though he had cleaned himself up, he was dressed far more simply than most of the guests she was accustomed to receiving. And yet, he looked more at home there as anything else that Priscilla was accustomed to.

 

“Is Luka on his way back to his inn?” She asked.

 

“He’ll be back eating at his mother’s kitchen table by tomorrow evening.” Heath answered. But both of them knew that wrapping up the loose ends of what had happened wasn’t the only reason he had called on her that evening. There was a steadiness in his eyes that had never been present in the jittery, almost frenetically energetic young knight she had first met.

 

“I looked at that Bishop today, and I saw someone wounded.” Priscilla answered. “It’s a terrible thing, to be hurt by wars even if your body is working perfectly well. But I don’t think I need to explain that to you, do I?”

 

Heath shook his head.

 

“I realized why you were afraid years ago, Heath.” She was looking him square in the eyes, her gaze unwavering. “It was because you think you would be alone, even if we were together. That the world I came from would take me away from you again. I…I didn’t know if I could be strong then, but please know this.” Sitting up straigher, Priscilla spoke silently of the authority that she had earned, day by day.Part of her heart wanted to remind him of what he had done to her, and feared that she would become someone lonely and prone to lash out against the people she was to care for.

 

But the heart was a many-chambered thing, and Priscilla had used her time to learn, no matter how difficult it was, to truly love again.

 

Her voice shaking, she continued, knowing what words would come because she had always wanted to say them if she ever saw him again. “I want you to stay. I can fight for you now. For us. That is, if you wish”

 

She heard the steady exhalation from somewhere near him, and couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. Then, he replied. “I’ve been trying to convince myself for years that I could be happy again without you….And you know what?”

 

“What?” The mask of the detatched countess that Priscilla had carefully built was cracking to piees.

 

“It hasn’t worked. Not for one second.” Heath’s intense, arresting gaze, which she had always found imposing, looked straight back at her, undoing her reserves in an instant.Her thoughts of the harrowing day that had just passed and the work that she had just promised to do went blank as their lips met. Long ago, when she was a sad, lovelorn and lonelier younger girl, she had begged whatever powers were present that time could stop. As the moment seemed to put everything on hold before them, she felt content to let him hold her and murmur things she couldn’t quite hear.

 

Realistically, a time would come when they would break apart, Priscillawould straighten herself up, and they would figure out what came next. But for the moment, she was content to freeze the moment, knowing nothing but the warm spikes of joy that made her pulse pound with life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a short epilogue to cap this one out next update.


	5. Epilogue: The Skies of Carleon

Priscilla had been trained to guide a horse through battle for as long as she remembered. Without hesitation, the motions of moving about on horseback were as familiar in her muscle memory as breathing. Logically, other types of mounts weren’t so diferent. And yet, even though she was familiar with Hyperion the wyvern, getting upon his back and taking flight for herself was a frightning logical leap.

 

She couldn’t recall when Heath had suggested the idea, but once the notion of seeing Carleon for herself from the skies had gotten into her head, it was an infectious, tempting opportunity. It had snuck into her days, peaceful and serene, without warning. Just like Heath had, if she really put her mind to it and compared.

 

“You win,” she had shoved him playfully, revelling in the newness of really being able to let her guard down around someone. It was a contentment that she had seldom known, but a feeling that had been a long time coming.

 

Now, though, all Priscilla felt was apprehension as she looked upon the wyvern. They stood in a grassy field just outside her manor, and a number of curious servants had followed them out. Some were worried for their lady, and others were peering towards the sky, likely imagining what it looked like for themselves. Flying wyverns and pegasi seldom came through, save for the few times that the king needed to send a message quickly to their lady.

 

“Is something wrong?” Heath asked, gently stroking her arm. “You know, if you’re not willing to try today, that’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Priscilla exhaled, meeting his gaze. “I know you aren’t. I’m just hoping I won’t fall off.” She laughed.

 

Heath cast a pretend stern look at Hyperion. “Well, you heard the lady. Don’t let her fall off while she’s watching over her domain, okay?” He gave the wyvern’s nose an affectionate rub before taking ahold of the reins and hoisting himself up behind the Countess. “Just hold on to me and you’ll be fine. I promise.”

 

“Mm.”

 

He kicked the sides of the wyvern with a quick _hup!_ Behind her, Priscilla felt the legs of the enormous creature tighten like springs, digging into the dirt as it reared back on its haunches. Hyperion’s leathery wings unfurled as well, kicking up little clouds of dust and debris in the courtyard. Her heart sped at the thought of leaving the earth behind with just her, the wyvern, Heath, and the sky.

 

Hyperion lunghed upwards, propelling himself quickly through the air with the same ease as the thousands of times Heath had taken him on training missions, test flights, or just cursory trips for the fun of it. At ease were his two passengers, relaxed against each other. Heath handled the reins as he steered the wyvern to get a good look at Carleon county.

 

“I’ve tended to this place ever since my father passed,” murmured Priscilla. “I know the map of it by heart, and I’ve a marked-over copy in my study.” The outlined shape had been inked many years ago and used as a planning tool for Counts and Countesses for generations. She bet that none of them had ever flown up in a wyvern or a pegasus knight to see the county for themelves. Wyverns were native to Bern, and no Ilian knight had a good reason to take a noble up on their mount.

 

“But seeing it fromup here really gives you a sense of where it is, doesn’t it?” Heath’s voice was low and gentle as they glided through the cloudless expanse. Below them were the working estate, villages, and cottages of the people that Priscilla had loved dearly. She believed that in time, they would know and see Heath for just the man he had proven himself to be— dutiful, kind, and open-hearted. Those were the traits of the knight that had come back to her, after all.“Oh, look, someone’s waving at you.”

 

“They can see me?” Priscilla called over the rush of wind.

 

“It’d be hard to lose that magnificiently red hair, Priscilla.” With his free hand, Heath tousled it a little before turning his attention back to guiding the wyvern. The sound of the short bark of his laughter was something she had never wanted to part from her side. Burrowing into the wool of his cloak, she waited, arms around him and content, to see what came next.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, Priscilla is a Geneology of the Holy War-ish mess and I love her. That's all.


End file.
